


Something more than skin (I am, I am, I am)

by RedWritingHood



Series: This is all all all that is real [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Mentions of the Joker - Freeform, but also a little bit of comfort, cangst maybe, if that's what we're calling it, obviously, somebody stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 19:17:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWritingHood/pseuds/RedWritingHood
Summary: Bruce and Jason talk after Bruce tried to kill the Joker and failed.





	Something more than skin (I am, I am, I am)

**Author's Note:**

> Set several days after the the canonical scene in which Bruce beat the Joker half to death but was stopped from going all the way by Superman.

"Hey, Bruce?"

Bruce doesn't answer, focusing instead on the gauntlet he's working on. Jason leans over the table and rests his head on the back of Bruce's hand, gazing up at the forbidding man. An icy sensation spreads from the point of contact to the tips of Bruce's fingertips and up his arm. He stops, fingers stilling; doesn't move away.

"Bruce," Jason says. "Bruce, Bruce, Bruce." He reaches out to tug on a lock on hair hanging over Bruce's forehead, and Bruce almost can't stop himself from leaning into the gesture. "You need to get some sleep, old man," the boy says. "You look like you got into a fist-fight with eyeliner and the eyeliner won." He pauses, waiting a beat. When there's no response, he adds, "Seriously, your bruises have bruises."

Bruce's doesn't reply. After a minute, Jason pulls his hand back and straightens up, just looking at him.

There's a moment of silence. Then the boy says, suddenly, "Are you mad?"

And Bruce can't. He can't take this. His head jerks up, his gaze colliding with Jason's. " _No_ ," he says, and his voice comes out harsh with disuse. "I could _never_..." He trails off, swallowing, and looks away. When he speaks again, it's quieter, a bit tight. "Why would you think I was angry with you?"

Jason holds himself stiffly, hands clenched tightly, no longer looking Bruce in the eye. "I tried to make you kill the Joker."

"No, I--" Bruce starts, then hesitates. "...My actions...were entirely my own. I don't want you to think that it's your fault. You didn't... You asked me to do something that I wanted to. I." He stops, struggling for words. "I went over the edge, but I know, I  _know_ it would have happened even if you had said nothing at all." He takes a breath, then another, calming himself. Eventually, he says, "Superman stopped me. I don't know who... What I would be now, if he hadn't."

Jason's lips tighten, and he lifts his chin in a flare of temper on Bruce's behalf. "He broke your arm."

"He stopped me," Bruce repeats.

Jason turns his head, dropping his gaze. His fists uncurl to hang at his sides. "...Is that really a good thing?" He speaks with a low tone, but with a thread of shame that causes a near-physical  _ache_ behind Bruce's ribs.

Bruce is silent. He's looking at Jason, at his expression, both stubborn and uncertain, hurt and determined, just the way he'd been in life.

Eventually, he says, "I don't know."

"The Joker would be dead," Jason says. "He wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else."

"But he wouldn't be the only one," Bruce says. "Because I wouldn't stop with him. Once I started, I wouldn't stop. I don't think I would know _how_ to stop. Eventually, I would make a mistake. I would judge too soon. And it would be too late. By the time I realized what I had become, the blood on my hands would be enough to fill an ocean. Because there are always going to be bad people. And I would always try to stop them. But the way I would do it, there would be no second chances. And people need to have second chances, Jason. They need to have an opportunity to change." He leans forward, abruptly. "You must know this, Jason," he says, almost urgently. "You must realize that if I ever crossed the line, I would be beyond second chances. There has always been a darkness in me. It's why I was so worried when I...I recognized it in you."

Jason flinches, but before an apology can form on Bruce's tongue, he says, "You've thought about it."

Bruce leans back, tilts his head slightly, and says nothing.

"Killing the bad guys," Jason clarifies. "You've thought about it."

Bruce looks down. "I've...imagined it. Extensively, in great detail. More often, now." _Since Jason died._

He doesn't say it, but it's there. Audible, almost, like it was spoken aloud.

Jason tangles his hands together in his lap. The way he always does--  _used to do_ \-- when he's uneasy. He says, "I'm not sorry for wanting you to kill the Joker."

Bruce says, "I'm not sorry for trying to kill the Joker."

Jason's head jerks up. His eyes are wide, the look in them disbelieving and-- vulnerable. As if there had been the slightest possibility that Bruce could ever hate him. "You're not?"

"I should be," Bruce says. Then, quieter, "But there are a lot of things that ' _should be_ '. Dick should have a normal life. Gotham should be less dangerous. There should be no need for superheroes." He exhales, and despite himself, despite his control, his voice comes out like he'd been strangled. "You should still be alive."

"Oh," Jason says. He sounds small. "But...you've been ignoring me. Ever since the thing with the Joker happened." His face begins to crumple, and he struggles to regain composure while Bruce feels his own falling apart. "I thought you hated me. You-- you haven't spoken to me for over a _week_. You haven't even looked at me, not once."

Bruce's hands are visibly trembling. He puts down the gauntlet. "I know," he says. The words ache in his throat.

Jason quickly scrubs the tears from his eyes. "Then why?"

Bruce says, "Because I am insane, Jason."

His boy looks up at him.

Bruce can't restrain himself anymore. He reaches out and gently takes Jason's hand in his. Coldness bursts across his palm, burrowing into his bones and taking residence within his skin. He keeps his hold. "I am insane, and you are not real," he says, even as Jason's fingers curl around his like physical thing. "My guilt and my grief is haunting me, and you are its manifestation." He tugs his brave little ghost closer. "You are not real," Bruce repeats, and then ducks down to press his cheek against Jason's dark hair. The cold spreads from the place of contact to half across his face, but he can't bring himself to care.

Jason clings to him tightly. "Do you want me to go away?" he asks. His voice sounds scared, and shaky, and heartbreakingly young.

Bruce lifts his head only to press his lips to Jason's brow. "No. No." He lets go of Jason's hand, leans in to put his arms around his son. Jason curls into him like he can't help it, and wouldn't stop himself if he could. The ice spreads into Bruce's lungs, through his veins, but it's Jason. It doesn't matter if it's not real. The ice is in his heart, and it's _Jason._

He would rather freeze solid than have this taken from him again.


End file.
